Crimson Guilt
by lazerbear7
Summary: When Pyrrha accidentally injures Jaune in a training exercise, she is put under considerable mental stress. Eventually she breaks. 1-shot.


Pyrrha awoke screaming, flailing desperately to get rid of a weapon she didn't actually have. The blankets that she normally slept under. It took several moments for her to realize that the things she had been seeing up to that point were only in her mind, and that she was safe now.

She peered around the dark room, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the low light conditions. Slowly, figures and shapes started to emerge. There was Ren's bed on the far side of the room, and Nora's next to it. Both held their sleeping owners; at least, they appeared asleep. Pyrrha knew that they had probably been awoken by her outburst, and were simply faking it for her benefit. She wanted to tell them not to trouble themselves like that, but didn't, in case she was wrong.

She took a deep breath and stood, wiping the cold layer of sweat off of her forehead that had accumulated during the night. She walked to the bathroom, careful to keep her steps as silent as possible. On the way, she passed Jaune's bed. She couldn't look at it, not even in the near pitch-black of the dorm room. She knew that if she did, she would break down again. She had promised herself that she wouldn't break down again. If not for her sake, than for everyone else's. She didn't want to be a burden for her friends.

She entered the small room, feeling the sting of the cold tile beneath her feet. The door latched shut quietly behind her, and she breathed a sigh of relief knowing that she was alone again. She turned into the room and flicked the lights on, looking at the mirror hanging on the wall. She didn't like what she saw, but knew that it couldn't be lying. She was a wreck, and not just because it was an ungodly hour of the morning, no. She was a wreck because she felt like one. Her hair was up at odd angles, her skin was clammy and sickly, and the area around her eyes was very red. She must've been crying in her sleep.

She bent over and turned the faucet on, letting the warm water run across her palms. She was hot, but the water seemed comforting. She allowed her eyes to drift across the reflective surface until they came to something that made her stomach turn. Miló, her weapon, sat on the metallic rack that protruded from the base of the mirror in its blade form. Pyrrha hadn't touched the thing since the accident, so it must've been someone else who put it there. Given Jaune's condition, he couldn't have done it, so that left Ren or Nora. Pyrrha knew that Ren would have considered the lasting impression that the terrible event would have on her, so it must have been Nora. She was so simple-minded and easily distracted, almost like a child. Thinking of the girl's erratic, innocent behavior brought a smile to Pyrrha's lips, but the sight of her weapon burned it away.

It looked like someone had made an attempt to clean the blood from the blade, but given up when they realized that it had thoroughly dried in place. It would take some major work to get it out, and even then there could be stains leftover. A sense of dread filled Pyrrha as she looked at it, realizing what she had to do. Merely looking at the thing made her sick, but she had to do it. There was no way that she was going to fall back asleep. Not after the vivid nightmare that she had had.

Slowly and hesitantly, she reached towards the handle of the blade. The golden edges and red main color of the weapon both had the dried red-black of old blood encrusted across its surface. It was chipped away in some points, but the majority was still there.

She wrapped her fingers around the thing and brought it under the steaming water with a ginger grip, not wanting to put any pressure on it as a precaution. Water slid across its smooth metallic surface and the crusted scabs all the same, carrying miniscule particles of blood along with it, twisting down the drain. She cast around for something to help with the process, and saw a washcloth siting on the edge of the sink, clean and unused.

She went for it eagerly, hoping to get her task done as soon as possible. She started to scrub the fabric against the metal forcefully, gradually pushing more and more of the dried blood off. Her stomach started to spin in circles and contract painfully. If she had eaten in the last few hours, she would've seen it again as she cleaned.

The mirror started to steam, and she clenched her teeth as her fingers kept working in spite of the uncomfortable heat. Water continued to flow out of the faucet, growing hotter and hotter, but Pyrrha only continued to work. She had to. If she couldn't do this, than what good was she?

Her hands started to shake involuntarily as the heat grow more intense, but she could only keep working. One of her hands slipped, and glided across the sharp edge of the blade. Her flesh was sliced open neatly, and she dropped the knife, pulling her hands away to cradle the wound. Tears started to flow down her face as the pain of the burns and the cut mixed with the pain of what she had done to Jaune. He hadn't deserved it. She was trying to help him. There was no way to predict that their training would go so horribly, horribly wrong. She was the one who should've been hurt. She was the one who deserved to get hurt.

She felt the tiled wall collide with her back, and realized that she had momentarily lost her balance. To avoid falling, she slowly let herself slide down to the floor. When she hit the floor, she pulled her knees up to her chest and buried her face in them. How could she ever face Jaune again? The look of shock that had passed across his face the moment that he realized what she had done… it was painful to think about.

She was lost. Entirely and utterly lost. All her life, she had trained to fight and kill, to seize control of a situation, and to protect the innocent. But Jaune was perhaps the most innocent person that she knew, and look at what she had done to him. She couldn't keep going after something like that. A Huntress was supposed to protect, and obviously she wasn't fit to do that. But that wasn't enough. She couldn't simply hang up the towel and leave. No, not after causing so much pain to her friend. She had to repent for it somehow. But how? Obviously she couldn't continue fighting in his name, that would only lead to more disasters.

Her eyes drifted slowly up to the sink again, and to the hilt of Miló that now protruded among the small column of steam. What if…?

No, she shook her head. She couldn't do that. It was insane to even consider it. She looked down at the cut in her hand, now trying to ignore the invasive thoughts that worked in her mind. It wasn't too deep, and the bleeding wasn't very heavy. If she were to act quickly, she could dress it herself, and not even need to see anyone about it.

She pushed herself up from the floor and pulled a small first aid kit from one of the lockers in the room. It was thankful that there was one in the lockers, as no one had thought it necessary. No one except Jaune, that was. She very quickly felt her face turn red as she realized that the only reason she was able to care for herself now in such a manner was because of Jaune. Even now, from the infirmary and after what she had done, it appeared that her friend was still looking out for her.

She cracked the small box open and laid what she needed out in front of her. Bandages, antiseptic spray, only really the bare minimum. That was fine by her, though. She took the spray in her good hand and brought it up to the cut, certain that what she was about to do would not feel good at all. Pyrrha breathed a deep breath, filling her lungs and preparing her body for the jolt that would follow. Then, with only a moment's hesitation, she depressed the small trigger.

The pain that occurred as the small particles of antibacterial spray contacted the raw, exposed, internal side of her skin was nothing overpowering, but it was certainly not pleasant by any definition of the word. Her fist closed almost involuntarily, but she knew that the pain was a good pain. As she stood there, with only the sound of the still running water and the pain of her own creation, something occurred to her. The look on her face as she had applied the sterilizing concoction to her hand had been much like the one that Jaune had gotten when she…

Almost frantically, Pyrrha undid the cap to the spray bottle and retook her spot by the sink. Her breathing was heavy, and there was almost a manic gleam in her eyes as she prepared to make atonement for what she had done. Her entire body shook, dreading the no doubt excruciating consequences of what she was about to do, but she knew that if she ever wanted Jaune's forgiveness; her own forgiveness, she would have to know at least a fraction of the pain that she had caused him.

She held her hand out over the porcelain white sink, feeling the hot steam rise past it and seeing her slow drip of fresh blood mix with the old and stale clumps of Jaune's before the two rushed down the drain together. If she did this, then maybe they could be like the blood; rushing forward, together again, into who knows what.

At first she wanted to close her eyes, then she remembered how important her expression would be. She had to see the pain slash across her own face to make sure that it even compared in the slightest to what Jaune had felt. Her heart beat faster and louder in her ears, and the steady drip of blood still coming from the wound seemed to increase in speed. The bottle tipped, slowly at first, but as the first drops of the liquid fell out onto the nerves below, she found herself unable to keep it steady, sending more of the harsh clear liquid cascading down on the crimson wound.

Her entire body reacted to the sensation that flooded her entire nervous system, starting at her hand and working its way out from there. She tried desperately to keep her eyes locked on the mirror, but her vision blurred quickly from the tears that came involuntarily. She blinked them away as best she could, but the pain was distracting enough to make that a difficult task. She didn't need to see the mirror, though, to visualize her pain. Her fingers were balled, in spite of her attempts to open them. The plastic bottle had been crushed between her fingers, forcing the rest of its contents out.

Her face was twisted into an expression of pure agony. Her normally soft features were twisted into sharp, angular positions. Every muscle in her body was revolting against the pain that racked it, trying to remove the pressure. In spite of Pyrrha's best efforts to keep her hand over the sink, her body succeeded in its demands. Her hand flew back to her body, and she cradled it, trying to get the pain to subside. Much of the fluid she had poured out onto the wound found its way into some nook or cranny of the split flesh, staying stubbornly in the raw flesh.

She looked down at the source of the pain for a small second before refocusing her attention on the mirror. She looked pained, maybe even agonized, but still nowhere close to how she remembered Jaune's face. The nerves in her hand started to fire less and less, and the pain started to fade.

She grit her teeth, irritated. What would it take to equal what she had done? What would it take to give her as much pain as Jaune had felt?

Again, she felt her eyes almost involuntarily drawn to Miló, still sitting in the sink. She quickly looked away from it, shaking her head as she wrapped the bandage around her hand. It was insane, but maybe it wasn't a bad idea. As things stood now, it seemed that it would be the only way to really achieve what she wanted. Maybe she had to do it…

Her uninjured hand reached out and took the handle of the weapon in her hand. Her fingers wrapped around the hilt, and she became instantly aware of the scalding heat being given off by the metal. It was still in the flow of steaming water, and Pyrrha realized that this might let her atone completely for what she had done.

She removed the blade from the water and shut the flow off simultaneously. Her fingers screamed at her to let the blade drop, but she knew that she had to do this. For her, and for Jaune.

She took a deep breath, wrapping both hands around the hilt of the blade and turning it towards herself, placing the point against her belly. The metal put its heat through the thin shirt she wore to bed, sending goose bumps up her spine and across her arms. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the pain to come. Her arms tensed, her fingers coiled even tighter, and her eyes went back to the mirror.

Her expression changed, even though she couldn't feel it. Her eyes widened, and her mouth fell open, in a surprised expression. At first she didn't even feel it, but then her nerves started to fire off. Her face twisted again, and the muscles of her diaphragm squeezed tightly, driving themselves into the blade more. Her hands went away from the sword, and she looked into the mirror, astounded. She was almost an exact mirror of Jaune. After a few seconds of effort, she was able to relax her face again to get a good look at the mirror. She took a few stumbling steps forward, using one arm to support herself on the sink, and the other to pull at her skin. It seemed to grow pale in just a matter of seconds, as if her body had suddenly realized that something was wrong.

The pain was immense, but much less concentrated than the antiseptic had been. Instead, it seemed to be a deep ache. Warm blood started to leak from the wound, and she felt her body start to weaken. Her vision started to blur, and her eyes started to droop. But she was happy. This was what Jaune had felt. A feeling of relief came over her, almost overpowering the pain.

Her knees gave out, and she fell to the floor. She thought she felt air exit her lungs in a way that could have been a cry, but she wasn't sure. Her consciousness was starting to fade, and she wouldn't fight it.

Somewhere behind her, a door opened, and Ren's voice said "Pyrrha? Are you…" before stopping suddenly and saying "Nora! Nora, get up! Pyrrha's been hurt!" A noise similar to a puzzled child was Nora's response, and Pyrrha felt the smile on her face widen. She was so innocent…

Her eyes drifted shut, and she felt like she was asleep.

Time almost seemed to pass like this in the strange way that it does during sleep, but she couldn't be entirely sure. She didn't feel anything after that, and she was alright with that.

Her eyes cracked open, and she was somewhere she didn't remember being. Some place white, and clean, and somewhat cold. She was under more blankets, and settled in comfortably. A sharp beep seemed to attract her attention, and she looked to her side. A large rack of medical equipment was there, with a heart monitor beeping rhythmically. She didn't know much about equipment like that, but it looked like her heart was very slow.

A feeling of curiosity came over her, and she turned her head to the other side. The effort that such a simple action took was disproportionate to how simple it was, but it still took her immense effort. What she found when she did finish almost made her jolt out of her bed.

There, only a few feet away in another bed, eyes closed and blond hair ruffled messily, was Jaune. He didn't look good, but Pyrrha knew that she was in a very similar condition. There were a few needles poking into his arms, and Pyrrha could feel similar ones poking into her. His eyes didn't open, but the heart monitor next to him told her that he was fine.

Pyrrha let herself drift off into sleep, the first time peacefully since she had accidentally put him here. She had felt terrible about it, but now she did not. She was still immensely sorry, and Jaune would receive many apologies when he awoke, but the crushing burden of guilt was gone. She breathed a sigh of relief, and for the first time in about a week, she slept peacefully, free from reliving that terrible moment.

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><p>Author's Note:<p>

I don't know why I feel the need to create depression like this, but I do.

Leave reviews, follow me if you like it, I have several other stories like this. Yeah. Review.


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